


Anchors Aweigh: A Response to "500 Word Story: Sterek Prompt"

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Stiles is Derek's Anchor, Stiles-centric, Top Derek Hale, Werewolf Sex, sterek sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles comes over and gets pinned against a wall...</p><p>... And pins Derek against a few things as well. Sexy times ensue. And Derek faints. Because Stiles is THAT good.</p><p>The first 500 words are NOT MY OWN WORK. My part begins at the double asterisks (**).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchors Aweigh: A Response to "500 Word Story: Sterek Prompt"

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [500 Word Story: Sterek Prompt](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/25183) by Of Wolves and Words. 



> Ok, so the following is a continuation of a 500 word Sterek story/prompt I found the other day (link below). My part starts at the double asterisks (**)
> 
> http://mydearsourwolf.tumblr.com/post/54682003271/500-word-story-sterek-prompt
> 
> You can find more of my writing on my tumblr: watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com. Come check it out!

The next time Derek slams Stiles against a door I hope it’s from behind, with his chest pressed against Stiles’ shoulder blades, mouth panting hotly against the curve of Stiles’ neck, feeling a shudder run through the flushed-sensitive skin when Derek’s lips hover too close.

Derek was on the other side of the door waiting for him when Stiles walked through the sliding door of the loft. Before he knew what was happening, Stiles found himself sandwiched between the still open door and the hard wall of Derek’s chest, his cheek pressed tight to the smooth metal surface as one large, too-hot hand griped the back of his neck, another curled tight around his left biceps.

"I told you to wait here!" Derek’s voice rumbled through Stiles’ chest, hot breath fanned over his neck as the Alpha leaned into him. It had been a while since Derek had taken Stiles’ personal space bubble for granted in such an extreme way, even longer since he’d resorted to violent threats to get his point across. Stiles’ knew him better now, and knew the werewolf’s threats of bodily harm were empty for the most part. What he didn’t expect was the rush that having Derek so close and menacing was giving him. His breath caught in his throat, not from fear, but from a sudden and seemingly uncontrollable wave of longing.

"I left to…um…" Stiles struggled to string together a response, a reason for disobeying the Alpha’s direct order, an excuse, anything other than the wanton whimper that threatened to slip through his parted lips as Derek leaned further into him.

"We can’t protect you if we don’t know where you are, Stiles," Derek gritted out through clenched teeth right next to Stiles’ ear.

"Fuck…" the younger man gasped in response, as a shudder crept down his spine from where the fingers on his neck tightened ever so slightly. He involuntarily arched into the broad chest at his back. His mind reeled from the sudden rush of desire he felt. Sure, he’d easily admit to finding the Alpha attractive—who in their right mind didn’t, honestly?—but finding him easy on the eyes and having an unprecedented and out of control urge to jump his bones were two completely different things, thank you very much!

Derek’s already furrowed brows dipped further together in a confused scowl as he breathed deep, nostrils flaring, taking in the heady spiced scent wafting from Stiles’ skin. Arousal wasn’t a scent unusual to find clinging to a teenager, especially Stiles, but the sudden flood of it coupled with the teenager being suddenly tongue tied clued Derek in, in a hurry.

Stiles’ breathing was nearing a pant as Derek dipped his nose to his neck and breathed deeply again.

"Stiles?" It was impossible to miss the meaning behind Derek’s question made only of the boy’s name. That one word asked for explanation, for clarification, and for permission. Permission was granted by the simple act of Stiles dropping his shoulder and leaning his head to the side, presenting the wide expanse of his neck. Derek’s mouth hovered over the pale skin a moment before another whimper from Stiles broke his resolve. He ran his tongue down the younger man’s throat from jaw to collar bone…

** 

Stiles shuddered in response, letting out a low moan, as Derek continued to mouth his neck. His hold on Stiles still hadn’t slackened, leaving the normally flail-y teenager hopelessly unable to move. Which, he really couldn’t have, even if he wanted to. The sharp waves of gratification surging through his body were too strong. He would never admit it to anyone, well except Scott, who seemed to know what he was thinking before he thought it, but he had waited for this for a long time. And feeling Derek on him now, his mouth nipping at Stiles’ exposed shoulder, the only conscious thought that Stiles could form as his eyes fluttered open and closed was that of continuing. Derek must have caught on to this too, because he released his grip on Stiles ever so slightly, and allowed his hand to slide from the back of his neck to his side. He slowly spun Stiles around to face him, feeling his pulse skyrocket and seeing his throat bob up and down as he did so. Stiles was staring at his lips, but he noticed that Derek’s claws were out. His eyes were shifting from red back to their normal green-brown as well. The wolf was struggling to break free. Stiles was simultaneously terrified and exhilarated by it. Ok, mostly terrified.

Derek glared at Stiles’ face from mere inches away, drinking in his smell with his nose, and watching Stiles’ lips. Then he attacked them. Stiles’ started with a jolt, but after about a second, he sank into it. The kiss was open-mouthed, warm, and wet. Stiles could feel Derek’s tongue tangle with his own, skirting his upper lip occasionally, he could feel his canines, enlarging by the second, nip at his bottom lip inadvertently. He was still pressed up against the metal door, but that was almost because his hands, working with minds of their own, had slid down to Derek’s waist, and hiked up his shirt in the back, sliding up underneath it and tightening each time Derek’s mouth twisted around his own. Stiles was dying, slowly. But he was enjoying it. And from what he could tell from the usually brooding werewolf’s low growls and barely-contained snarls, so was he. 

With exhausting effort, he managed to pull his mouth back from Derek’s lips, and stared the werewolf in the eyes. They were lingering on red longer than before, like Derek was having trouble maintaining control. He was looking at Stiles questioningly. Stiles advanced ever so slightly off of the door, forcing Derek to retreat. In his mind, Stiles wanted to be in control, to push the wolf back until they found the bed, then, once they were there, shoving the alpha’s body down onto it and mounting him slowly, savoring the heat, the need even, radiating off of his body as he lowered himself onto it. 

It did not go like that at all. The second that Stiles had started to push Derek back, the wolf lunged and attacked his lips again, this time only briefly, and peppered Stiles’ jaw and neck with open-mouthed kisses, intermittently licking the reddening skin and nipping at it. He pulled Stiles closer, digging his claws into the small of Stiles’ back, sliding one clawed hand around Stiles’ butt. They staggered around the loft like this, occasionally running into something, their steps short and jagged, each one a tangle of legs, scuffing shoes, and tightening jeans. Something was invariably knocked over, but the sound of whatever it was—Stiles wasn’t paying attention—crashing to the floor didn’t stall the proceedings.

Stiles did enjoy finally getting to push Derek up against a wall, though. It caught him totally by surprise, and Stiles held him there, with his hands sliding up the front of Derek’s torso, feeling every cord of muscle with his lithe fingers. He pulled back from Derek’s neck and moved his kisses down his chin to his throat, nipping at the taught skin as he did. Derek’s skin was flushing a deeper shade of red with each place that Stiles’ lips touched. And each touch was punctuated by what Stiles could only describe as a growl-moan.

Whatever. Semantics. It was hot as fuck.

He shuddered as Stiles’ palms lightly grazed his nipples as they slid up the werewolf’s shirt, over his chest, as his back arched forward off the wall, pressing himself into Stiles. He brought his hands up to the sides of Stiles’ face, forcefully holding it in front of him, and attacked his lips again, harder and wetter than he had before. It was a sloppy kiss, a tangle of lips and tongues. Stiles could no longer stifle his moans, and Derek seemed to exist in a perpetual state of growling.

Derek broke the kiss and pushed Stiles back, pulling himself off of the wall with a penetrating look, and grabbed the front of Stiles’ shirt with his hand. He pulled Stiles deftly towards his bed. Stiles was stumbling to keep up as Derek shuffled backwards, everything shivering with anticipation. Once the back of his knees hit the frame, Derek allowed himself to fall backwards, dragging Stiles’ mouth with him. He kicked off his shoes, and Stiles fumbled with his, trying to post on two limbs on the bed over Derek while he worked off his shoes and socks. Derek was already helping him slide his flannel shirt over his shoulders. Stiles shrugged it off as quickly as he could manage. He pulled back, stood over the alpha wolf at the edge of the bed, and watched as Derek’s eyes hungrily glared at him. His face was more relaxed than Stiles had ever seen it. But there was a desire there. The wolf was still flickering in his eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” Derek’s whispered question was lightly pleading. God damn the human for making him plead. Stiles felt a surge of pride well up inside of him. It was enough to make one corner of Stiles’ mouth slide upward in a satisfied smile. His eyes drank Derek in as he felt his stomach flip inside of him and felt his blood leave his brain.

“Stiles,” Derek said through gritted teeth and flickering eyes. 

Stiles hadn’t realized, but he had been staring for longer than a few seconds. His mind was a rush of different images; of him and Derek intertwined on the bed, all heat and desire and shades of red; of the two of them sitting on the couch, fingers interlocked as they watched tv, with the rest of the pack dozing around them, colored in shades of blue by the light; of Derek chasing a little boy around in a field, a laugh and a smile ringing from his lips as he did so, bathed in the orange of the afternoon sun; of waking up to the sight of Derek’s face half-buried in a pillow, his jet-black hair and stubble tinged with streaks of grey, eyes held closed only slightly so he can catch Stiles waking up. 

“What? No. Sorry.” Stiles stumbled for words when he noticed Derek’s tone and the look on his face. The look that said I need you on me. Now. He smirks at the thought, and it quickly turns into a full-on grin as he remembers the premonition. 

In one fluid motion, he slides his t-shirt over his head, and watches as Derek’s eyes drink him in. He slides a knee along Derek’s right hip, and reaches the other one over the left one, and sits back for a second. Derek arches upward briefly to remove his shirt, stretching, extending his arms over his head before allowing them to relax where they fall as he dropped the shirt over the other side of the bed. Stiles has no choice. His body is acting before he can think. He pounced. 

He holds Derek’s arms to the bed with a hand, and begins attacking the flushed-red skin on the side of Derek’s jaw and neck, which the alpha wolf instinctively elongates, allowing Stiles to sink his teeth into it a few times, making Derek snarl lightly. Red trails form in the skin where Stiles’ lips have touched, remaining hot long after his mouth has moved on.

All it did was spur Stiles on. He moved his mouth down Derek’s shoulder, over his chest, brushing past his nipples with his lips as he does so. Derek shuddered violently and moan-growled Stiles’ name ever so slightly. Again with the moan-growl. It was all Stiles could do to keep himself from ripping off Derek’s pants and having his way with him. 

Stiles keeps moving farther south, allowing his tongue to graze the individual ridges of muscles in Derek’s abdomen, feeling the short, panting breathing as it tightened and expanded the werewolf’s lungs, contracting and relaxing his midsection gloriously. He could feel Derek’s pulse in his wrist as he struggled against Stiles’ hold, quickening to a pace that would kill a normal human. The wolf was taking over. As if to bookend it, Derek moaned lowly, drawing it out into almost a howl. A clarion call for more.

The thought no longer terrified Stiles. In fact, he wanted Derek to lose control. He wanted to see the wolf. To feel as it took over, as its bounds were torn to shreds and its anchor shattered. Anger. He had watched for years as Derek clung to that particular noun with glares and glowers, and the furrowing of many a bushy eyebrow, particularly on full moons. He had heard the resignation it created in Derek’s voice before he charged headlong into a fight he would lose, or when he was dying afterward. He wanted it to break. He wanted to destroy it, to replace it with something that didn’t cause the alpha so much pain.

As Derek shifted, he broke Stiles’ hold and lifted him deftly, spinning him onto his back, so that he could stare at the wolf growling over him. Stiles was almost helpless. His pulse was racing, his heart contracting with the speed and ferocity of the wolf on top of him, making the edges of his vision blurry. In his stupor he managed to wrap one distinctly human hand around a distinctly werewolf forearm, as Derek began kissing him. Stiles’ vision went white for a second. 

When Stiles came back, Derek was still kissing him, but it was much less murder-y than Stiles expected. More savoring. Deliberate. Purposeful. The wolf was almost gentle. Stiles couldn’t even move his mouth. It was all he could do to stifle a moan into Derek’s mouth as he bucked up against the werewolf, who responded in kind and bit down on Stiles’ bottom lip. It became more difficult as Derek began working his lips down Stiles’ body, nuzzling his neck and collarbones as he worked his way towards Stiles waist, occasionally nipping at the flesh. He was just rounding Stiles’ belly-button with his tongue and undoing (nearly ripping) his jeans when he sat up violently. Stiles had his hands on the alpha’s waist, half in his jeans, fingers curled against the skin in anticipation. The slackened a bit at the disruption, and Stiles had feared he did something wrong as Derek shifted back, staring at Stiles from above with clenched fists.

“Don’t. Do. That. To. Me.” Derek bit off every word as if it were painful. His teeth were gritted, incisors beginning to shorten. His eyes were still red. His breathing was still ragged, coming in short, gasping spasms.

Stiles played the fool. “Do what?” He half-hid a smirk, not really being able to tell if Derek was actually angry with him.

“Make me shift. You can’t— I can’t— I don’t want to hurt you.” He was having trouble forming a coherent sentence. His eyes were glassy, and beginning to glaze over. “I can’t control myself when I shift.” His eyes were focused downward, and he was blinking with effort, like he was trying to fight something behind his eyelids.

“Uh, that was kind of the point.” Stiles had his look of interrogatory incredulity down pat, and it was the face he was sporting when Derek abruptly slumped forward limply, his bodyweight slamming Stiles almost completely through the mattress. 

Stiles let out a gasping “umph” as the wind was knocked out of him. He spent the better part of the next minute remembering how to breathe while intermittently thinking great, I probably killed him.Seriously, it was a new one; a human killing a werewolf during sex. Derek was an immobile mass of dead weight on top of him. It was not helping his breathing issues. Stupid werewolf was heavy. 

When he finally breathed normal again, after what seemed like an eternity, he looked at Derek’s face, which was serenely relaxed in what Stiles guessed was sleep, his mouth half-open, with the smallest amount of drool hanging off of his bottom lip. He wriggled an arm out from under the seemingly tons-heavy wolf and gave him a few playful slaps across the face. The wolf came to. 

“Uh, you ok?” Derek leaned up, wiping his face with his hand in the process. He rolled off of Stiles and onto his back, clutching his forehead.

“Wha… What happened?”

“Uh, well, we were going at it, real hot-n-heavy like, when you kind of, you know, fainted.”

“Fainted?”

“Yep.”

“Me?”

“Yep.”

“You’re lying.” He was glaring at Stiles, who was half-posted up next to him on the bed on an elbow. Stiles was definitely not being turned on by the glare. Not at all. What the hell does lying have to do with it?

“Nope. Not now, anyway.”

“You’ve lied to me before?” Derek’s eyebrows raised out of the scowl questioningly. Stiles did not think that was fucking adorable at a—Shit, time to backpedal.

“Nope.” Plausible deniability. Think about a time when you haven’t lied to Derek. Except all he could think about was when Derek told him to stay put while he went to deal with the Alphas, and Stiles literally did not even stop to consider following that particular order, because he had no intention of sending Derek there on his own while he waited for him to come back, most likely in some kind of body bag.

Derek chuckled. “You’re lying again.” 

“I’m not. We were in the process of fooling around, which, uh, definitely needs to continue, by the way, when you shifted, kept going for a few seconds, sat bolt-upright, and then promptly shifted back, and passed out on my chest.” Derek narrowed his eyes and his eyebrows, impossibly. “Well, first you mentioned something about me making you shift, and how that was a bad idea, and blah blah bl—thud. It was rather funny, provided you didn’t weigh like a thousand pounds.” Derek’s narrowed eyes became a glare again. Then softened. He looked away from Stiles at the ceiling. Silently. Stiles was used to Derek’s silent pleas to some kind of power whenever he irritated the wolf. Which was all. The. Time. He wished he could score some silent, or you know, very-loud-and-coupled-with-moaning pleas to a deity or himself from the alpha.

He waited a few seconds, sighed, and then began speaking. He was on the bed next to Stiles, head cocked towards him. “Remember how Isaac asked me what my anchor was, to keep me from shifting involuntarily?”

Duh, Stiles knew that one. “Of course. Anger, or something else broody and/or emo.”

“I’m serious, Stiles.” 

“I know. Go on." 

Derek sighed again. “Well, it was, for the longest time. Anger is what kept me going with everything that has happened since the fire. It was an unstoppable force. Was.”

Stiles wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

“Until you came along, and refused to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Uh, if I remember correctly, you kind of begged me to save your ass at least twice that I remember, and you never really tried to get rid of me.” Stiles once again adopted his naturally interrogatory expression. Derek remained, as always, unamused.

“Regardless. You,” he pointed at Stiles, “immovable object. Anger,” he pointed at himself, “unstoppable force.”

“So what does that mean?” Stiles still wasn’t sure he got it.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Uh, yeah. Especially since it involves me being ravished by an extremely hot werewolf with stupidly perfect deep stubble who has stopped said ravishing voluntarily, mid-ravish!” It was true, sarcasm was his only defense. Otherwise, Stiles was a disaster in human form.

Whether Derek closed his eyes in frustration or embarrassment, Stiles couldn’t really be sure. “You became my anchor, Stiles.”

Stiles, for once, was rendered dumbfounded enough to not say a single anything. It was an odd experience. His mouth was stuck open slightly, and his eyes were kind of frozen on Derek’s face. If he had been not-rendered-speechless, he would have totally launched into an extensive interrogatory foray into the subject matter of Derek’s anchors. But right now he lacked the mental capacity to do so.

“So that means that— what? I keep you from shifting? Isn’t that a bad thing?” Stiles was still legitimately confused.

“No,” Derek was backpedaling a little at seeing Stiles’ reaction, “no, it’s not. You keep my human side in control. When I am near enough to you, or I think about you, I can control the wolf, instead of the other way around. With you around, I can focus it. I realized that it was how I beat the alphas. How I survived and found you afterward.”

“Which ti—“ Derek cut him off.

“The last time.” The first time Derek had fought the Alphas, like really fought them, not ambushed-in-his-apartment-by-Deucalion-and-Kali-with-a-fucking-pipe. The second time had gone better, except that Derek had almost died. Again. “Physical contact makes it stronger, too. When you touch me, it seems to bleed whatever I am feeling out of me, keeping it from feeding the wolf.”

“Feeding the wolf?” Stiles put serious effort into suppressing that smirk.

Derek cut him off, sensing he was going to make some kind of 80’s song reference. “You know what I mean, damnitt.” 

“I think so. So, let me get this straight…” He looks at Derek expectantly. “If I can control you and your… wolf,” Stiles waves a hand empathetically, “then why did you shift when we were doing it?”

“Because you wanted me to.” Derek almost sounded pained when he admitted it.

“Wow. So, I like, can totally sic you on someone if I touch you?” He reached out and put an obnoxious hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Scott stole the last of my chocolate milk. Kill him for me.” When Derek didn’t shift, and instead returned Stiles’ request with an exasperated sigh and accompanying glare, Stiles moved his hand. Derek’s side. Then his bicep. Then his face. Stiles left his hand on Derek’s face obnoxiously for a few seconds before Derek made to move it, with an irritated growl. The first time he had moved since he passed out on Stiles. He leaned up on one elbow and was about to push himself up when Stiles then proceeded to place his hand squarely over Derek’s crotch.

“What about now?” The only thing that shifted was Derek, underneath Stiles’ hand. His own jeans began to tighten. 

“Stop it, Stiles.” Derek forcefully batted Stiles’ hand away as he sat up. Stiles smirked knowingly.

“Why? You liked it.” He moved to put his hand back. Derek batted it away, once again. And again. And again. They repeated this until Derek had to hold his forearm down against the bed.

“Stop. It. Or I will kill you.”

“You can’t. You are my wolf now. I have seduced you with my manly wiles. Resistance is futile.” Stiles was smirking. Derek was fuming.

“Stiles—“

“—Nope. You are powerless to resist me.” Derek was screwed. Stiles was joking, but he knew he was right. He couldn’t resist Stiles. In fact, he didn’t want to. But damnitt, he was not going to let Stiles, the self-satisfied little shit that he is, win this one. Because if he did, Derek would never hear the end of it. “Don’t worry, I will make sure not to invite the wolf to the party any more,” Stiles chuckled.

“You are an idiot,” Derek sighed. He literally had a choke-hold on a smile. He would not allow it to show on his face, lest the jig be up entirely.

“Nope. You loves.” Stiles put on a stupid, exaggerated facial expression and waggled his eyebrows at Derek in mock seduction. Derek coughed up a chuckle. Stiles sat up and pumped his fists victoriously. Derek buried his face in his palm.

“… Unfortunately.” It was all the quarter Derek was going to give. He would never admit to more than that. “But you are still an idiot.”

“Shut up and mount me, Sourwolf.” Stiles was on his back again, head cocked to the side towards Derek, who had abandoned trying to get up and was lying on his back next to him. Derek sat up and got out of bed quickly, standing in between Stiles’ legs at the edge of it. In one fluid motion, he yanked his jeans and boxer-briefs down to his ankles, stepped out of them, and obliged.


End file.
